


Someone To Watch Over Me

by koalathebear



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 14:16:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalathebear/pseuds/koalathebear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the finale for season 1 but before I knew anything about season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone To Watch Over Me

Michael feels like a stalker as he stares through the window of the small apartment block. It looks directly into Sara's. It wasn't easy to get an apartment that faced her window but money has always been the most eloquent of advocates and the previous occupant of the apartment was eventually persuaded to vacate the premises for a while.

Michael can't help glancing around in distaste. He can't say that Mr Carney has good taste, the mirrors, fur trim on the walls and gold light fittings look as though they came from Liberace's garage sale.

Lincoln and the man who calls himself their father opposed his decision to come back. With an impassive face, Michael had listened to their words, allowing them to wash over him as his thoughts were far away, plotting and planning what he would do.

"He's not even listening," Lincoln had finally said in disgust. He recognised the expression in his brother's eyes. "Michael - Veronica's investigating .... you go back now and get caught, we're back to square one."

"I won't get caught." Michael had said grimly. "I won't be back long." He glanced at the grim-faced man standing beside Lincoln.

"I can help," he said finally. "But I agree with your brother. Going back is unwise."

By that point, Michael wasn't listening any more. Now, as he stands in the darkness staring through the glass at Sara Tancredi alone in her apartment, he doesn't regret his decision.

Her hair is longer, her face is paler, a little thinner but she's alive. He watches her wash the dishes, one glass, one bowl, one plate. She performs the domestic chores with an air of quiet abstraction. He knows she's still working - at a small clinic downtown. He knows about her disciplinary hearing before the Board of Medical Examiners. His hands tighten on the window sill.

 _Sara why didn't you tell me?_

Sara had always seemed so strong and self-assured. A drug addict. He had realised that she was vulnerable, he simply hadn't known that she was fragile.

Sara dries her hands and then rubs at her eyes tiredly. Long days at the clinic are oddly satisfying because at last she's making a difference. Although no one believes her, her drug overdose was not attempted suicide. It was a stupid mistake. She had sought temporary oblivion not death. The stupidity that had led her to miscalculate the dosage was was akin to the one that had made her fall for Michael Scofield and his steady eyes and elusive smile. She frowns. It bothers her that although months have passed, he's still very much on her mind.

As she waits for the kettle to boil, she goes to stand by the window and stared out onto the quiet street. She knows the statistics. The rehabilitation rate for doctors who are narcotics users is much higher than the rehabilitation rate for a non-physician addict - but there is also a marked suicide rate among physician addicts. Sara's mouth twists into a smile that is filled with wry acceptance.

Across the road, Michael's eyes narrow. He wonders what's on Sara's mind. Her expression is unreadable. He is unhappy to see her living on her own in such a rough neighbourhood. It's not safe.

The kettle gives a noisy click and Sara walks back and pours the water into a mug with steady hands. Her licence to practise medicine was revoked but there was a stay on the revocation for 5 years. Not surprisingly, one of her probationary terms was a surrender of her narcotic privileges, the possession of narcotics or the ability to prescribe them for patients. If she violates her probation, then her licence to practice medicine will be automatically revoked.

She sips her tea slowly, her thoughts far away. She knows that other doctors who are recovering addicts feel that it's tough to prohibit narcotic privileges for so long when they themselves feel that they are completely rehabilitated. Sara feels nothing of the sort. Admittedly, it's occasionally a little inconvenient to call one of her colleagues in to do the prescriptions for her, but from the sympathy in their eyes, she knows that they understand.

As it was, the Board of Medical Examiners imposed certain conditions on the her practice for five years. She has undergone the rehabilitation, endured the occasional psychiatric monitoring, random laboratory tests and regular attendance at rehab meetings. Now and then she shows up for Board reporting. Given that Sara is one of the more quiet and compliant disciplinees, there is a chance that they might agree to shorten the probation period. Sara doesn't care. The threatened suspension has been stayed and she has been given a second chance. She fought her father's attempts to intercede on her behalf.

"I'll fight this one on my own," she told him quietly. "I'll take the punishment. You don't want to be seen as circumventing the system - going soft on an addict just because she's your daughter."

Tancredi had backed down. There was merit to what she said. Presumably the worse that could happen was that her licence would be revoked. With rehabilitation and good behaviour, in a few years she could probably return to practising in her own right.

Sara glances up with a faint frown in her eyes. She can't rid herself of the insane notion that someone is watching her. The feelings of paranoia annoy her, almost as much as the realisation that despite everything he's done - she still misses Michael Scofield.


End file.
